Rise (34 page)

“And Barrow?” Ember lowered her eyes as her pulse jumped.

“He will be with Lukasz, Kael, and the Mamluks, guarding Rebekah.”

Ember let her eyes close. She’d known it wouldn’t be possible for Barrow to stand among the clansmen who gathered for her wedding. The chance of him being recognized was too great. But a stubborn, irrational piece of Ember’s mind insisted that she needed him in the crowd, that once the battle began, she would want to shove Alistair away and rush over to fight at Barrow’s side so he would know without question that the ring encircling her finger was nothing but a ruse. By her action, she would refute the ceremony she’d taken part in, purging the false promises she’d uttered as she fought at Barrow’s side.

Father Michael must have surmised the nature of her thoughts, for he said, “When the fighting begins, you should see to your safety and that of your mother and sister.”

Ember looked at him, nodding, though her mind clung to the hope of somehow finding Barrow.

“Mackenzie promised men to protect your family,” Father Michael reminded her. “When they reach you, stay close to them. Just as you are, they will be unhappy to be excluded from the battle at large. Let these warriors fulfill the task their clan chief has given them.”

Finding all her counterarguments ignoble, Ember resigned herself to playing the role of spectator in the coming fight.

Father Michael stood up. “Before that day arrives, however, I have another task for you.”

Without further explanation, he walked away. Surprised, Ember hopped up and followed Father Michael out of the chapel, into his private quarters. He paused in front of a tall, narrow bookcase, looking back at her.

“Lord Hart came to make confession,” Father Michael said. “From what he said, I understand you’ve spent little time with your betrothed.”

Ember avoided the priest’s gaze. “I find it difficult to be in his company, knowing I deceive him.”

“I do not envy you, Lady Morrow,” he said. “You’ve placed not only your body but your heart and spirit at great risk.”

Father Michael pulled a book from the middle shelf and reached into the empty space. “For that reason, I am sorry to ask you to risk more, but fear I must.”

Ember heard a click, and the bookcase whined. Father Michael took several steps back as it swung forward. “Do you remember what I asked of you at Eilean Donan?”

“You spoke of fear over the work Alistair had been doing for Bosque,” Ember said.

Nodding, Father Michael continued, “And since you have found it necessary to avoid Lord Hart, I assume you have not spoken with him of this matter.”

Mute with embarrassment that she’d chosen her own needs over the priest’s request, Ember shook her head.

Seeing the way her cheeks colored, Father Michael said, “Don’t chastise yourself, my child. I would be far more concerned if you pretended love for Alistair without a heavy heart.”

Her eyes downcast, Ember murmured, “Thank you.”

Father Michael beckoned Ember closer. When she reached his side, Ember saw a dark opening in the wall that had been hidden by the bookcase. “This passage leads to the catacombs where each day Alistair performs his work. He enters through a trapdoor in the cellar, but only I know of this entrance. Alistair took Lady Eira into the catacombs this morning.”

“You would have me enter?” Ember gazed at the dark tunnel. “When they are still within the tombs?”

“The answers we seek lie in the corridors and chambers beneath this manor,” he answered. “Your wedding takes place in four days. Alistair makes confession of his carnal desires, but not of what hides in the darkness below this manor. If there are secrets that will compromise our success within the resting place of the dead, we must know. Stay hidden in the shadows and learn what you can from listening.”

Father Michael drew a dagger from the folds of his robes.

“Take this so you have means to defend yourself.” He pressed the hilt into Ember’s hand. “I pray that you won’t need to use it.”

Ember’s fingers closed around the hilt. She called to mind the gathered warriors of the clans, the risk they would take by staging a decoy attack. She drew further resolve from the faces of her friends. Lukasz, Kael, Cian, and Barrow would protect Rebekah as she attempted to close the rift. If the catacombs housed some unknown weapon, it could compromise everything.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded a farewell to Father Michael and entered the tunnel. The light from the priest’s quarters faded quickly, leaving Ember in darkness.

Blinking into the dark, Ember turned to follow the directional change of the tunnel and noticed a ruddy glow farther along the passage. She made her way forward cautiously. As her vision adjusted to the lack of light, she began to see the contours of the passage. When she reached the light’s source, a torch in an iron sconce, the tunnel curved again, pitching sharply downward. Ember took the torch from the wall and continued on her path. The more she walked, the narrower the passage became, and abruptly Ember was facing a dead end.

Frowning, she gazed at the wall before her and wondered if Father Michael had ever used this tunnel and
knew
that it came out somewhere. She lifted the torch, searching the wall for anything she’d missed—a depression or hidden door. When she examined the corner of the wall, the shadows dancing in the torchlight grew more pronounced.

Ember pressed her hand to the wall, feeling its shape. Without warning, the stone she touched was gone and her fingers grasped at air. The gap in the wall was nearly invisible, made to trick the eye into seeing a barrier where a small space existed. The hole between the wall she faced and the one to her side barely accommodated Ember. She squeezed through and came out at the back of a statue. An effigy of the Virgin Mary at prayer loomed over Ember and disguised the place from which she’d come.

Slipping around the statue, Ember saw that she’d entered what must be the main corridor of the catacombs. The tunnel was wider, and the stone walls featured hollows at regular intervals occupied by sarcophagi. The corridor had a steep slope, and Ember began to follow the downward tilt of the path. She kept her eyes ahead. Surrounded by so many souls laid to rest, Ember couldn’t shake the sense that spirits watched as she passed by their burial sites.

A sound rising from behind the curving wall in front of her brought Ember to a halt. She listened more closely and heard voices. Every foul curse she knew jumped onto Ember’s tongue, but she dared not cry out. The voices were much too close for comfort, and out of the corner of her eye, Ember caught the soft glow of lantern light spilling along the corridor. She searched the wall until she found an empty iron sconce. Quickly restoring her torch to an inconspicuous place on the wall, Ember cringed, realizing that she’d be forced to hide behind a sarcophagus. She scrambled over the cold, carved stone and rolled into the crevice between the wall and the coffin. Her shoulder dropped hard against the corner of the tomb, and she had to bite her tongue so she wouldn’t shout in pain.

Ember hoped the shadows were enough to keep her hidden. There wasn’t space to curl into a ball. As it was, she could barely move and worried she wouldn’t be able to leverage herself from the tight space. Panic hit her like a blow to the chest. What if she couldn’t get out? Fear, rolling through her limbs, almost made her yell toward the sound of the approaching group. Better to be caught than to be trapped by this sarcophagus until it became her grave as well.

Forcing herself to close her eyes and breathe, Ember beat back her anxiety. Instead of thinking about the rough stone, its cold touch reaching through her dress and making her shudder, Ember listened to the voices that grew ever closer.

“I must say, Alistair,” Eira mused, “I never expected this. You’re quite the innovator.”

Alistair’s reply was barely audible. “I only hope to please you, Lady Eira.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” she answered him. “You’ve proven your worth many times over. I’ll readily admit that I find you quite… essential.”

“I’m honored,” Alistair replied.

“And what do you think of our young knight?” Eira asked.

A smooth, low reply came. “I’ve always seen great potential in Lord Hart.”

Ember went rigid. Bosque Mar’s voice never failed to make her pulse spike. She was startled that he was in the catacombs. He must have left Agnes shortly after Ember went to seek Father Michael.

Keeping as still as she could, Ember prayed that the darkness was enough to hide her. She could hear their footsteps. Lantern light slid along the wall opposite her crevice. Eira and Alistair came into view first. Bosque followed, a tall guardian looming over their shoulders.

“We won’t know until they’re unleashed,” Alistair said to Eira. “But I think they could make all the difference when it comes to a fight. The traitors will never anticipate this development.”

“I agree,” Bosque said. “It’s an incredible feat. Something to celebrate at your wedding feast?”

Bile rose in Ember’s throat as she waited for Alistair’s reply, but it was Eira who spoke.

“Though we cannot share your triumph with the wedding guests, we shall toast you in secret,” Eira replied.

“I am grateful, Lady Eira.” Alistair added, “I hope that Rhys will soon be able to join me in the manor. He has yet to learn control, but the child is eager.”

“And deeply attached to you,” Eira noted. “That serves our purpose well.”

There was a pause, then Alistair asked, “When will she wake?”

“After an hour or so,” Bosque answered.

Eira added, “I’m more interested in when we’ll know whether Rhys was able to complete the rite as you envisioned it could occur.”

“As am I.” Alistair’s voice was tight. “We simply have to wait.”

“As you wish,” Bosque replied.

A blur of questions seized Ember’s thoughts: Who slept while the three plotters acted? Who was Rhys, and what rite did they speak of? She realized only after the lantern light began to fade that the trio had passed her without incident. She waited until she could no longer hear their voices, then began the task of dislodging herself from the tomb. As she’d feared, in her haste to hide, Ember had wedged herself firmly between the sarcophagus and the wall. Though panic tried to keep her imprisoned by the coffin, Ember methodically squirmed and wriggled until the stones gave up their hostage. Hoisting herself onto the sarcophagus, Ember crawled back out of the tomb. She glanced in the direction that Alistair, Eira, and Bosque had gone. Their path led toward the passage by which Ember had entered the catacombs.

Given her near discovery, Ember briefly considered returning to the passage and getting away from the tombs as quickly as possible. But the snippets of conversation she’d overheard were too troubling to ignore. What had Alistair done to so greatly please Eira and Bosque? And how could they be so confident that whatever it was, it signified the demise of Ember’s allies?

Turning her back on the way to safety, Ember instead faced the slight downward pitch of the ground. She reclaimed her torch from the wall and followed the path deeper into the earth.

The spiraling tunnel held nothing but the dead, and Ember’s head ached with frustration until she reached the point where the passage ended, opening into a broad chamber. At first glance, this was also simply a tomb—albeit a larger one—but the sarcophagi in the room had been changed. Their surfaces were covered with objects, as though they’d been used as tables.

Ember wandered through the room, taking note of jars, vases, tools, knives, herbs, parchment, ink, and quills. She couldn’t make sense of the odd assortment of items, so she left the large room to search the adjoining chambers, which were connected to the four corners of the room.

As she approached the opening to the first side chamber, Ember slowed, her nose wrinkling. Disturbing odors wafted from the arched opening—stale blood and cloying decay. Though her stomach flopped unpleasantly at the onslaught of sickening scents, Ember forced herself forward.

The rectangular chamber held four sarcophagi. Upon two of the stone coffins rested a body shrouded in cloth. Tightening her grip on the dagger, Ember crept forward. The odor in the chamber indicated that these corpses had lain here for some time, but Ember knew that they hadn’t been placed here because they were meant to be buried in the catacombs.

When she reached the first sarcophagus, Ember forced herself to peel the shroud back. With a shout of fear, Ember jumped back and then clenched her jaw for allowing herself to give such a loud cry.

Reminding herself that the creature was dead, Ember ignored her screaming instincts and moved to examine the corpse. She’d seen nothing like it. From head to tail, she would have called it a wolf. But its arms and legs were those of a man, their only wolfish characteristic being the thick fur that covered the limbs and the clawlike nails extending from the fingertips.

After covering the body again, Ember went to the second sarcophagus. Prepared for another shock, Ember lifted the shroud. This corpse was similar to the first, though its anatomy revealed the creature to be female. The face of the beast was less wolflike and more human. Ember peered at its features, a nagging familiarity buzzing within her mind. Bending close to give the face a more careful examination, Ember suddenly froze as horror crawled over her skin. It couldn’t be.

Dizzy and sick, Ember hid the face that so disturbed her, hurrying out of the chamber. As she stumbled toward the next side room, dreading what she’d find but compelled by necessity to continue her investigation, Ember tried to shut out the whisper that chased after her.

Lora. Lora. Lora.

Ember was desperate to purge the cleric’s name from her mind, wanting to deny what she knew to be true. The dead woman’s face, though mutilated by being somehow terribly wedded to the features of a beast, had been Lora’s face. Cian and Father Michael said Lora had vanished, but any death Ember might have imagined for the cleric seemed preferable to this. How such an abomination of man and wolf came to be created, Ember couldn’t fathom—though she had no doubt as to where the blame should fall. Everything she’d learned of Bosque Mar revealed the way he corrupted the earth, twisting it to his purpose. That Lord Mar had the power to effect such a horrible transformation of men and women into monsters didn’t surprise Ember, but she didn’t understand its purpose. Had these catacombs been the site of some horribly twisted punishment and execution? Was Alistair a part of it? This couldn’t be the creation that had pleased Bosque and Eira, could it?